Lindsay?" she asked very
casually as they rose to go.
The bridegroom said he was much obliged and he would be plumb tickled
to take a message to Clay.
When Clay read the note his blood glowed. It was a characteristic
two-line apology:
I've been a horrid little prig, Clay [so the letter ran]. Won't you
come over to-morrow and go riding with me?
BEATRICE
CHAPTER XXVI
A LOCKED GATE
Colin Whitford had been telling Clay the story of how a young
cowpuncher had snatched Beatrice from under the hoofs of a charging
steer. His daughter and the Arizonan listened without comment.
"I've always thought I'd like to explain to that young man I didn't
mean to insult him by offering money for saving Bee. But you see he
didn't give me any chance. I never did learn his name," concluded the
mining man.
"And of course we'd like him to know that we appreciate what he did for
me," Beatrice added. She looked at Clay, and a pulse beat in her soft
throat.
"I reckon he knows that," Lindsay suggested. "You must 'a' thought him
mighty rude for to break away like you say he did."
"We couldn't understand it till afterwards. Mr. Bromfield had slipped
him a fifty-dollar bill and naturally he resented it." Miss Whitford's
face bubbled with reminiscent mirth. She looked a question at Clay.
"What do you suppose that impudent young scalawag did with the fifty?"
"Got drunk on it most likely."
"He fed it to his horse. Clary was furious.
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